


well it must be in my bloodline

by warfare



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rival Sex, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warfare/pseuds/warfare
Summary: “You fuck,” Cagliostro declares, visibly reveling in the way both Randall and Feather recoil at seeing a child use that kind of language. “Frankly, kiddo, I have no idea how to cure it.” She shrugs. “You could give a single handjob and it’ll clear up. On the other hand, it could be that this is your life now, and you’d better find someone to give it to you on the regular.” The way she says it indicates just how little she cares about the answer beyond pure academic interest. “But one thing’s for sure: you can’t go on like this.” She shoots a look over at Randall, as if gauging his reaction. “You’ve got to fuck someone, or you’ll die.”(feather becomes an incubus, that's it, that's the fic)
Relationships: Feather/Randall (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	well it must be in my bloodline

The monster’s attack hits Feather so hard and so fast that Randall doesn’t even see it; instead what he catches is the way his friend staggers backward, momentarily stunned, his usually stable stance broken. It’s a strange moment, one that barely feels real; after all, Randall has seen Feather take hit after hit without crumpling. Out of all of his irritating characteristics, it's easily his most annoying: how Feather always seems to just keep moving forward after taking a hit, unstoppable.

While it takes Randall a second to register that Feather's been hit, but even so he still seems to realize what's happened before Feather does. Randall waits for it, the inevitable comeback; he can see in his mind's eye Feather leaning into the blow, shaking the sweat and the blood off of himself as if he's some kind of animal, smiling with all of his teeth and going in for a counterattack. Randall is certain that's how it'll go, but Feather's recovery doesn't seem to arrive. Instead Feather goes still for a second before he looks up, eyes wide and glassy, as if he’s momentarily forgotten where he is and what he’s doing.

Randall barks at him to pull himself together, but in that moment a tentacle or something like it swipes dangerously close to both of them. Randall's able to dodge out of the way just in time for the Captain to swoop in, stepping in front of Feather without even a shouted warning. Speaking of stupid strength - the Captain takes the monster out in one fluid attack, almost in an instant. Even though Randall is impressed by the Captain's strength, it irritates him to think about the way displays of strength captivate Feather. Randall ignores the shock of irrational anger that slides familiarly down his spine. He shakes the tension of the fight out of his shoulders, rocks from the balls of his feet back onto his heels.

“What was that,” he barks, annoyed almost out of habit. “Couldn’t even dodge your run-of-the-mill magic spell?” He looks over at Feather almost as if it's an afterthought, dreading the sparkle in his eye, the inevitable challenge to their leader that perhaps _now_ they could trade blows.

It's nothing like that. Nothing like Randall's ever seen, actually, even in all of their years together. Feather’s face is flushed; his pupils are almost completely dilated, blown wide. When he looks over at Randall his gaze is warm and distracted. Randall instantly knows that something is wrong.

“Hm?” Feather blinks, as if he’s trying to shake a fever off. He smiles shakily, wiping his brow. “Sorry, Randall, I missed it -- what were you trying to say?”

“What, hasn't the curse or whatever hit you worn off yet? Pull it together,” Randall feigns disinterest as he closes the distance between them, claps a hand onto the small of Feather’s back. Feather shivers into the touch in a way that’s completely foreign to Randall. It's as if he's made of a hundred tiny pieces and Randall has scattered them carelessly; he practically collapses in on himself with a yelp. 

Feather and Randall bickering is normal; Feather reacting to Randall with anything other than obnoxious, high-volume enthusiasm is not. It grabs the attention of everyone around them. Within moments the Captain and Rosetta have appeared on either side of them.

“What’s wrong with Feather?” The Captain’s question is edged with concern. It's not clear to Randall if it's directed at Rosetta or at him - but how should he know what's wrong with Feather?! 

Rosetta extends a pale hand and touches Feather's forehead with the backs of her fingers. He groans shakily, leaning into the touch almost as if he doesn’t intend it. Randall suddenly realizes his hand is still at Feather's back, and he pulls it away as if stung.

“I’m fine!” Feather chokes out, knees trembling to support his weight. “We can keep going!! This is nothing!”

It’s clear that they can’t keep going, not with Feather like this. At the Captain’s urging, Randall slings his friend over his back and carries him back to the ship. 

“We can continue in the morning with different members,” the Captain says as Lyria fusses over them both. Randall begins to protest that just because _Feather_ is out, that doesn’t mean that he is, but he swallows his complaints when he feels Feather’s sweat matting his shirt against Randall’s back, his heartbeat erratic and wild in his chest. “Randall, can you make sure he goes to see Sophia in the morning?”

“Why me?” Randall gripes, unhappiness settling like a grim weight in the pit of his stomach. Feather adjusts his arms around Randall's throat, loosens them as if he’s trying to let Randall breathe. It's a pointless gesture; it's not even like he'd been choking him in the first place. Typical of Feather to think Randall can't handle this much. He’s surprisingly light, Randall thinks. Feather’s so solid and immovable, and he always seems to occupy so much _space_ to Randall, it’s easy to forget that he's not really all that big. 

“Sorry, Randall,” Feather murmurs into his shoulder, breath hot against the fabric of his jacket. “I’ll be fine, so you don’t need to worry about helping me out or anything.” His hand clutches in Randall’s shirt, as if momentarily riding out a wave of pain. “It’s probably just a cold or something, I’ll be totally recovered in the morning.” He seems to be struggling to talk, but of course like a moron he continues anyway, “I’m just hot because I’m burning up from the Captain’s final punch.” He can’t even manage to offer a final challenge to their leader, and instead seems to decide to focus on breathing. Something shifts in Randall’s mood, and he adjusts his grip on Feather’s legs.

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles, climbing the steps down into the belly of the Grandcypher. “Idiots can’t catch colds.”

\----

It isn’t a cold; whatever it is that afflicts Feather, it isn’t a normal illness that Sophia can cure. For a couple of hours the following morning, Feather is put through a gauntlet of examinations and tests; they toy with the possibility that it’s a curse of some kind, but Sophia and De La Fille can’t seem to even diagnose it, let alone cure it. When Fif herself admits that she’s stumped, no one is quite certain what to do with him. 

He doesn’t recover, even after several days of enforced bedrest; if anything Feather seems to decline. At first it’s slow, nearly imperceptible -- a feverishness behind his eyes, a sluggishness to his step. Then all at once the ailment seems to pick up pace, his eyes losing their vitality and his skin its glow. Of course, it doesn’t stop Feather from challenging literally everyone on the ship to fight him and see how healthy he feels, but there’s no weight behind the challenge when he’s like this. It’s hard to watch, and Randall finds himself increasingly on edge as the mystery of Feather’s illness remains unsolved. Occasionally, very rarely, he lets himself rest a hand on Feather’s shoulder, and tries to ignore the way his friend shivers into his touch as if he’s seeking answers.

After a few days the captain decides that it’s fine for him to walk around the ship; after all, it doesn’t seem like whatever he has is contagious, and it’s too cruel to keep him locked up as he continues to decline. It’s only when Feather is back among the crew that Randall notices he seems to have a different effect on people than before. Maybe it’s something about the way in which Feather seems to be crumpling under the weight of his affliction, but there’s something about Feather that seems to call people to him. He’d always been relatively popular amongst the crew, especially with the children, but now it seems like more and more adults on the crew come to him as well, as if the rasp at the back of his throat catches their attention and sympathy. It’s as if there’s always someone around to catch Feather’s arm when he can’t quite manage to hold himself up anymore, and Randall steadfastly ignores the way his stomach churns when Feather’s face flushes and he croaks out his thanks.

A full week into Feather’s illness, he’s begun to visibly waste away. Randall is growing distraught -- how can it be that he’s fought battle after battle with this idiot, and it’s some slimy tentacle monster on some nowhere island that’s poised to take him down? What would be the point of having a rival that could be taken out by something so absolutely ridiculous? 

The truth of the matter, ugly as it is, is that Randall hates seeing Feather like this. He feels like the only thing that keeps them together is crumbling in front of him. 

What’s Randall supposed to do with the rest of his life if Feather never recovers?  
He’s mulling this over as he and Feather lean against the railing on the upper deck of the Grandcypher; Feather had insisted that he wanted to see Ghandagoza, that he’d probably feel better if he could just feel the impact of his fists once again, but now he’d gotten himself too worked up and had crumpled into a coughing fit. Ghandagoza had picked Feather up as if he weighed nothing, carried him up to the deck and deposited him there, looking regretful somehow.

Randall considers telling Feather how uncool he’d been, but something about the unfamiliar resignation on his friend’s face stills his critique.

“Hey, hey, heyyyy!” a voice peals out, hatefully cheerful given the circumstances. “I leave for like a few weeks, and when I get back the captain immediately starts _begging_ me, 'You’ve got to check this kid out.'”

Both Feather and Randall turn, unsure who’s joined them. The motion knocks Feather off balance and Randall reaches out to steady him. Had Feather always been this warm? Or like, if he’s so dehydrated, how come his lips look so moist? 

“Oh, wow,” the person who’s joined them drawls, somewhere between interest and sarcastic. “Captain was right to call me, you look _bad_.”

They’re both passingly familiar with the monster in the form of a little girl who stands before them, but honestly this is probably the first time Cagliostro has ever really had a conversation with them; this is _definitely_ the first time she’s looked either of their direction with real interest.

“What do you want,” Randall snaps, patience frayed thin. Cagliostro always gives off the impression that she's deeply dangerous somehow, but if she wants to fight, all the better. After all this time watching Feather be so pathetic, Randall is itching to fight _someone_ who could realistically fight back, even if it means getting his ass handed to him.

“Did the captain send you to fight me?” Feather’s question is hopeful, but in his current state it sounds a little ridiculous. Cagliostro’s expression is as close of an approximation of pity as she can probably manage.

“No, idiot,” she bark-laughs, “the Captain sent me to _diagnose_ you.” She slides closer to Feather, and Randall blocks her way without even really thinking about it. She shoots Randall a surprised glance as if she's just noticed him for the first time. She looks him up and down, assessing, then smirks in a way Randall finds exceptionally infuriating. “You sure you want to stand so close, Legs? You’ve got to be practically choking on it at this point.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Randall snaps, frustrated. 

“That’s not a surprise,” she retorts, continuing to look Feather over assessingly. Finally she orders, “Hey, Shouty, open your mouth for a second.”

Feather obliges, which is wild; what’s wilder is the noise he makes when Cagligostro reaches over and grabs his tongue, pulling it without any gentleness.

“Hey, what the h--” Randall begins to protest, but whatever he was going to say dies in his throat as Feather groans audibly. His tongue is trapped between her fingers, unable to escape, but the muscle still twitches in protest, wet and red. Randall can’t stop looking at it for some reason, even when a trail of saliva begins drooling out of the corner of his friend’s mouth. It’s insane, but it feels like his vision narrows. Even though they’re outside it’s claustrophobic.

“That’s what I thought,” Cagliostro murmurs, looking over at Randall smugly, and then lets go of Feather’s tongue. Feather coughs, but that doesn’t deter her from continuing, “You’ve been changed into an incubus.” They both just stare blankly at her for a second. Neither of them were particularly focused students, and they're not sure if this is just some kind of affliction they should be familiar with. She laughs, pulling out a handkerchief from somewhere on her person and wiping her fingers off. “What, is that not a word you know?”

Randall doesn’t know that word, and he can tell from the look he trades with Feather that it isn’t one he’s heard either.

Cagliostro sighs dramatically. “A incubus is a sex demon. Like, a male succubus? A demonic entity that can’t survive without sex.” Her tone is even, as if she’s describing the weather. “Whatever you got hit with, it’s been spreading in you all this time.” She giggles again, cruel. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed? That people seem drawn to you, that you can barely stand to be touched.” She looks over again at Randall. “I mean, I guess having this idiot as a bodyguard means that no one can get close, and he’s too stupid to even realize what’s happening.”

Randall wants to protest that it isn’t true, that he doesn’t feel a damn thing, but he realizes that isn’t strictly true. Now that she mentions it, he supposes Feather’s been shuddering a lot, that he never seems quite able to catch his breath. But as far as magnetism -- that’s ridiculous. Randall hasn’t been any more concerned with Feather than usual!

“How do I fix it,” Feather huffs, sounding tired, strangely vulnerable.

“You fuck,” Cagliostro declares, visibly reveling in the way both Randall and Feather recoil at seeing a child use that kind of language. “Frankly, kiddo, I have no idea how to cure it.” She shrugs. “You could give a single handjob, swallow down a gallon of come, and it’ll clear up. On the other hand, it could be that this is your life now, and you’d better find someone to give it to you on the regular.” The way she says it indicates just how little she cares about the answer beyond pure academic interest. “But one thing’s for sure: you can’t go on like this.” She shoots a look over at Randall, as if gauging his reaction. “You’ve got to fuck someone, or you’ll die.”

Randall feels like the air is evacuated from his lungs. This is ridiculous. He isn't ready for Feather to die, but. Feather? With anyone? Impossible. It would be almost funny, if he couldn’t see how Feather’s skin hangs loosely on his collarbone, the way the shadows under his eyes seem to deepen even as they talk. Feather’s too stupid for any of that. He’d rather fight someone than -- well, he’s just not the type.

“What happens to the other person,” Feather breathes the question, and Randall can’t believe _that’s_ what he cares about.

“Who knows?” Cagliostro sniffs. “Normally they’d have their life energy slowly drained away, with the danger that if you take it too far with someone too weak, you could basically wring them dry. But I guess technically you’re not a _real_ incubus, so it’s not like the rules apply to you, necessarily.” She turns on her heel, skipping back toward the entrance to the crew’s quarters. “Anyway, I did my job. Let me know how it goes. If you wanna last to the end of the week, though, I encourage you to find someone who isn’t too picky and can handle losing a few years of their life to a few moments of very intense passion.” And then she disappears as abruptly as she came, laughing all the while.

When she’s gone, an unusual quiet settles between them. It’s torturous; Randall is sure it’s just because she’d mentioned it, but now he can’t help noticing how _good_ Feather smells, how soft his hair looks. He reaches out to touch it, only stopping when Feather sighs deeply.

“At least there’s a bunch of strong people on this ship,” he says, sounding almost like his old self. He looks up at Randall. “Thanks for everything, Randall; I’ll ask the Captain for--”

Suddenly the tunnel vision he’d felt before comes rushing back; he can’t hear anything Feather is saying. His vision goes white, familiar anger pouring hot through his veins.

He grabs at Feather’s jaw, unsure whether he’s trying to get him to shut up or to hold him in place. Feather can’t even manage to dodge; his eyes go wide with the force of Randall’s grip, surprised. _Well, of course_ , Randall knows, furious. _It’s not like he even considered me. Even though I’m right in front of him._

He lets go of Feather’s face as quickly as he’d grabbed it, feeling momentarily guilty, but then he thinks about Feather asking the Captain, or even Ghandagoza, really anyone else for their help, and he swallows miserably, feeling invisible. Feather clenches and unclenches his jaw, checking for injury.

“Randall, what--”

“Shut up,” Randall grumbles, his last drops of patience completely evaporating. He crouches, slinging Feather over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. His friend goes easily; Randall feels suddenly deeply aware of how much lighter Feather is than even a week ago when he’d carried him back to the ship. “I’m taking you back to your room.”

When they’re back below deck, Randall drops Feather unceremoniously onto the bed. Now that it’s just the two of them, now that there’s no chance that Feather’ll leave him and go find the Captain and the wind isn’t whistling in his ears, Randall feels strangely embarrassed, like he’s realized for the first time how childish he’s being.

“What’re you doing?” Feather’s expression is hard to read, if only because Randall can’t remember the last time he’s looked anything other than excited. “Randall, I don’t need to lie down or anything, I’ve got to go find someone who can help me.”

“I’m right here, aren’t I?” Randall barks, his voice unfamiliar. Now that they’re inside again, it’s harder to bear; Feather smells incredible, masculine without being overpowering. It’s difficult to concentrate. It’s like all of his focus keeps getting hijacked by small, innocuous details: a bead of sweat on Feather’s temple, the way his pulse is hammering in his throat. “Or what,” he continues, “you don’t think I can handle something like this?” 

For a minute Feather seems to be thinking, which he’s admittedly never been particularly good at. And then all at once his expression clears. He smiles at Randall like he’s just been invited to spar.

“You’re right,” Feather admits, shifting on the bed. His voice is strangely husky, a departure from his usual enthusiastic yelling. He leans backward, almost languid. It's like he's a totally different person, a stranger in the skin of Randall's greatest rival. Suddenly Randall feels extremely self-conscious, like he's demanded to be included in something he has no idea how to accomplish. “Randall, you’re the obvious choice. I should have asked you from the beginning.”

The windows are open; the light drifting in from outside is golden, softly illuminating the tufts of Feather's hair, the way his legs splay open lazily. Randall feels like given that Feather definitely has some kind of weird incu-whatever magic going on where he’s suddenly and inexplicably good at being sexy, surely he could give off pheromones or at least instructions so that Randall would have any idea what to do in this situation. Instead he stands over the bed, momentarily unsure of what he should be doing with his hands. 

Or like, all of this is so unlike Feather: the serenity with which he leans back, the way it suddenly feels like Feather wasn't just talking about going upstairs and asking the Captain to fuck him, like he’s never been interested in anything but Randall. It all feels fake, somehow; Randall catches himself wondering if this is even something Feather actually wants or if he’s being forced somehow, like the curse has caused some unfamiliar being to occupy his friend’s skin.

Randall doesn’t want that; he can’t think of anything worse than the idea that Feather’s only looking at him like that because he’s being forced.

And then Feather’s grin cracks wider, less obscene and more ridiculous, and Randall has the sinking feeling that he’s back to normal. 

“Come on, Randall!” Feather clenches his fist with feeling, leaning forward. “Give me your best shot!!” Randall has no idea whether they’re talking about fucking or punching anymore, but at least the way his blood rushes furiously to his head, the way he feels himself rock forward on the balls of his feet, at least that all feels familiar, even normal.

“Shut up! I can’t think when you’re yelling!!” Randall yells, unaware of his own hypocrisy.

While Randall is seriously considering kicking the shit out of his rival, who is obnoxious even when he’s close to a wasting death, Feather makes the first move. Of course he does, he has no idea of the concept of restraint, so of course he always moves first. Feather reaches up and grabs at Randall, pulling him down onto the bed. The moment that their skin collides is absolutely electric; Randall shudders at the _heat_ of it, the way Feather’s hips wriggle against his. Feather moans into his ear, breath warm on his neck. This is all so much more lewd than Randall had been prepared for.

He shoves backward, but Feather’s grip on his collar is idiotically strong. It feels more like he’s going to throw him over his shoulder than have sex with him, and Randall is halfway into another shouted rebuke before their mouths collide. Maybe it’s the sex magic Feather’s supposedly giving off, but somehow their teeth don’t even clack against each other, and Randall finds Feather’s lips pliant against his.

There’s desperation to the kiss, which Randall supposes makes sense given that this is apparently the first nourishment Feather’s taken in since he got cursed. Randall can feel his resistance siphoning out of him, a feeling of relief pouring in to replace it, and reassures himself that’s probably the weird sex demon stuff too. He’s on top of Feather now, hands braced against the headboard like they’re the only thing keeping him anchored in reality. He’s just thinking about how unfamiliar this all is when Feather grips his jaw, his tongue breaching the barrier of Randall’s teeth, and something about how combative it is feels like something Randall knows.

He hates to be outdone, so he fumbles with Feather’s jacket, momentarily taken aback by how genuinely difficult it is to pull outerwear off of someone lying on their back. To say nothing of all the buckles on his shirt! And hey, shouldn’t a normal person take off their jacket when they come inside?! Randall fumes impotently, ignoring the way Feather is currently struggling with Randall’s jacket, which he’d also left on.

He’s finally gotten all of the buttons on Feather’s _middle_ shirt done, feeling triumphant, when Feather pushes him off, unexpectedly strong. Randall staggers across the small room, back pressing against the walls of the Grandcypher.

 _That strength is probably the incubus thing too_ , Randall thinks, his vision swimming with how suddenly he can breathe again.

But Feather isn’t letting up; that isn’t his style. He climbs off the bed, and maybe it’s just Randall’s imagination but he seems like he has more vitality than before, more color to his cheeks. He pins Randall to the door, and Randall would shove him back, but he freezes when Feather’s knuckles drop, more gentle than they have any right to be, and trace the edge of Randall’s belt.

Feather falls to his knees, and Randall chokes on a complaint, but he realizes horribly that Feather’s going to have to take a minute; Randall is wearing two belts, and each boot has four individual buckles strapping his whole leg in.

“Idiot! What are you doing! You don’t have _time_ to deal with all that, just lay back for one second and let me--”

He allows himself to bark out a steady stream of complaints as Feather makes horrifyingly fast work of his boots. He’s just really begun to work himself up, annoyance overcoming his embarrassment and the heat that’s been spreading through his whole body since they’d first collided, when Feather finally shoves his pants down, freeing his dick.

For all his complaints Randall is already half-hard, and he isn’t at all prepared for the warmth of Feather’s breath, the gentle slide of his hand up Randall’s thighs.

Randall knows firsthand the strength Feather carries in his palms, so it’s mysterious somehow how gentle he is now, how he takes Randall in his hand with a few experimental pumps. It feels incredible; something unfamiliar unwinds in the pit of Randall’s stomach, almost as if it’d been coiled up inside of him for so long he’d forgotten life without it. He doesn't have the courage to keep watching Feather. Instead he stares fixedly at the ceiling, willing himself to imagine himself in any other situation, with literally any other person on the floor in front of him. It's pointless; all he can think about is the way Feather’d looked up at him through the frame of his lashes, the feeling of his hands gripping his skin.

Suddenly the feeling of Feather's hand is replaced with something else entirely, something warm and wet. Randall groans in spite of himself, his head dropping back, and his skull makes a dull thudding noise as it cracks into the hard wood of the wall behind him. He looks down at Feather, furious, only to freeze when he sees Feather’s mouth around his dick, his tongue working as he presses it flat along the bottom of its shaft.

Hazily, Randall can barely recall how he’d gotten himself into this situation, how this could even be happening. The only thing he can think about is the heat of Feather’s mouth, moist and twitching. Feather, for his part, seems completely focused on the task at hand; he swallows more and more of Randall, more bravery than technique, then pulls back and laves at the tip, lips smeared with Randall’s precome.

The hollowing of his cheeks, the delicate way Feather coughs after a particularly adventurous attempt at deepthroating; they all remind Randall that no matter what it feels like in the moment, it’s not like Feather -- either of them! -- is doing this because they want to.

The thought burns cold in Randall’s chest, and he can feel jealousy, dark and familiar, tangling itself up again in the pit of his stomach.

“Enough,” he barks, hair fisting unkindly in Feather’s hair as he pulls him off of his dick. Feather looks up at him, cheeks rosy and hair completely out of place.

“What’s up, Randall?” Even though Feather asks the question casually, there’s a raw quality to his voice, a hunger in the way he looks back at Randall’s cock, like he's missing out on something he was really enjoying. He wipes the drool from his chin. “It’s not like you to call a time-out.”

Randall breathes hard, hating the way his legs wobble. He tries to collect himself, tries to think of what he wants to say.

Once they've paused to take a breath, Randall supposes that Feather does look better -- not wholly improved, for sure, but certainly more vital. Whatever they’re doing, they definitely should continue. Just because of Feather’s curse, Randall corrects himself insistently. But at the same time…

“Lay down,” Randall growls, catching Feather’s hand and hauling him back over to the bed without any delicacy. “It feels gross to just take it and not do anything.”

For a brief moment there’s nothing of Feather in his friend’s expression; he regards Randall thoughtfully, like he’s evaluating his options, which is completely antithetical to everything about Feather. Finally he grins, throat gurgling as if it’s difficult for him to laugh.

“Of course,” he laughs, “That makes total sense. Randall, you do mine too.”

Randall isn’t entirely sure what he’d been asking for, but he freezes at the direction, unsure. Somehow he can’t help feeling a sense of resistance toward putting Feather’s dick in his mouth. Feather laughs, sounding for all the world like he’s just said he wants to spar for another round. He lays down next to Randall; at some point when he'd had been sucking him off he’d taken his own dick out, red and leaking. It looks almost painful. For a second Randall wonders how Feather can bear it, but then his friend turns to him, as casually as if he’s asking him to go on a job together, and says,

“Try straddling my face.”

Randall briefly dissociates. Suddenly he evaluates every memory they have together, all of their fights dating back when they were young children, wondering what strange turn of events could possibly have led them to this point. He's so baffled by the request that when Feather reaches over and practically heaves him on top, dick dangling dangerously close to Feather’s face, he barely even has the wherewithal to react. He’s face-to-face with Feather’s dick as well, and all of his previous feelings of inadequacy and sympathy go hot and cold in his chest. He's just decided that actually, fuck this, and is planning whether he should put his pants on before or after he punts his newly-incubussed friend directly into the nearest cloud formation, when Feather extends his tongue, getting back to work on swallowing Randall's dick.

Something short-circuits in Randall's brain; maybe it's how insanely good all of this feels, or maybe something about these new incubus pheremones are affecting his brain chemistry, or maybe he just hates the idea that Feather always seems to act first. _Fuck you, you aren't better than me,_ Randall thinks hazily, and then drops his mouth, throat swallowing around Feather's cock.

It's a terrible idea; Randall has to pull off immediately, choking ungracefully. Again, just as he's beginning to come to his senses, Feather groans around his cock with an almost inhuman noise, bucking his hips. Randall is suddenly transfixed by the way Feather's hands grip and ungrip in the sheets, desperate and sweaty, and he can feel his initial resistance melting away. He gets to work again, making small noises in the back of his throat as he dedicates himself to taking Feather apart.

He has no idea how much time passes; objectively he knows it can't have been that long, not with the sun still peeking through the windows. He can't really be bothered to care, not when Feather's mouth swallows around him, when his dick twitches in Randall's throat. It's unfamiliar, being quiet with Feather; they're both too wrapped up in each other to argue, and instead quiet, wet noises echo off of the walls, punctuated by the occasional grudging moan. Surely they've been in here for hours, Randall thinks hazily. Surely someone has heard them, someone will come any minute to check on them.

"Enough," Feather grunts out in an unfamiliar voice. Randall is feeling admittedly lightheaded, which probably on reflection has to do with his life force being drained out of him, but even so the ease with which Feather lifts his leg and tosses him head-over-ass surprises him. It's probably a side effect of the magic, Randall reassures himself, coughing gracelessly. It's not like Feather is actually that much stronger than him.

"What the hel--" he starts to complain, but Feather is on him before he can even finish, hand splayed across his back as he shoves Randall face-first into the mattress, ass in the air in an undignified way. Randall's cheeks burn hot as he yells his muffled protests into the sheets.

"Sorry, Randall," Feather hisses, and then something long and hard slips between Randall's legs and Feather is fucking shallowly into his thighs. Feather's body is hard and warm as it presses against Randall's back. "I don't know if I can hold it any longer."

Randall grits his teeth, thighs clenched around the sliding pressure of Feather's dick. It's maddening to be pushed down like this, but worse than that is that it isn't quite _enough_ ; his cock hangs red and furious between his thighs, aching for the warmth of Feather's mouth, or hand, or anything. Every now and then Feather's cock head will tap against the back of his balls, which simultaneously feels like way too much and still, somehow, not _quite_ \--

"I've had enough," Randall barks, and he lifts himself off of the bed, practically throwing Feather off.

Feather shakes his head, almost as if he's coming out of a trance. He looks more vital than he has in days, almost back to normal. He's never really had the sense to think about the effect his actions might have on others, so it's almost unheard of for him to apologize, but he looks almost regretful. "Sorry, Randall, is it too much after all? I can sto--"

Randall slams his hand into the wall by Feather's head, more frustrated than he's been in ages, at least since they'd come to blows at the tournament. "Just. Just shut up." He clambers into Feather's lap, straddling him. Some animal instinct deep inside of him warns that he should probably prepare himself or something beforehand, but all of his frustration and anger pushes him forward, and he barely manages to bark out, "If you have time to say stupid shit, you have time to jerk me off already," before he sits directly on Feather's dick.

He honestly expects it to hurt, but it actually doesn't at all - Feather slides in easily, pressing into Randall as if he was made to take him. He knows that's probably a weird side effect of the magic, too, but he doesn't let himself think too hard about it, about whether this could have possibly worked with anyone except for him. He holds still, breathing hard for a moment as he wills the blood thundering in his ears to just slow down for a second. Feather, for his part, holds still as well, though Randall can feel the way his dick twitches desperately. After a moment Randall gathers enough courage to open his eyes and look at his friend.

He isn't prepared for the look on Feather's face, the warmth in his eyes or his satisfied grin. He looks more like they've just had a particularly long sparring match than like they've been fucking, arguably under duress, for an indeterminate amount of time. One of his hands moves to Randall's dick, beginning to pump him earnestly. His mouth presses into Randall's clavicle, and maybe Randall's losing it a little bit but he thinks he can hear him muttering quiet encouragement.

Feather's hand feels incredible. His mouth is warm on Randall's throat. Almost as if possessed, Randall finds himself bouncing on Feather's dick, lifting off slightly and then driving himself further downward in an effort to take as much as possible. Feather moans his encouragement; Randall is feeling relatively cocky until suddenly Feather pushes in at an angle and he sees stars, his toes curling as he comes in sticky spurts all over Feather's shirt and hand.

Feather doesn't have the sense to let him wait a minute; instead he picks up his pace, fingers bruising into Randall's hips. It only takes a few more thrusts before he shudders, face pressed into Randall's shoulder as something hot coats Randall's insides.

They collapse in a heap on the bed, still intertwined. In the minutes it takes for both of them to regain their senses, it feels like a magic spell is lifting from the room. Randall suddenly finds that he can hear the creaking of the ship, the ambient noise of conversations above them. Feather finally pulls out, and Randall feels his ears burn as liquid leaks out between his thighs. There had probably been a better, less messy way to handle the situation, but he can't think of it even now.

"Are you feeling better," he croaks, voice more frustrated than he feels. Maybe it's all the abuse his throat had taken this afternoon. Feather _looks_ better, fully revitalized. In fact, maybe it's just Randall, but if anything he looks better than before, like maybe his hair is a little softer. "Back to human?"

"I feel great," Feather admits, clenching and unclenching his fists as if he'd forgotten what it felt like to have power in them. But then he grins mischievously, pressing Randall back down into the mattress. "But better safe than sorry, right?" He laughs, adding, "Come on Randall, you're the only one I can ask."

The sun has set; the cold night sky blows a chilly breeze into the glass panes of the window. Randall sighs long-sufferingly, wraps his arm around Feather's shoulders and pulls him down to meet him.

"This time, I'm not going down so easily," he warns.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this fic when Halloween SR Feather came out and in the time it took me to stop being embarrassed about writing the sex stuff Feather got an SSR


End file.
